


grounding, healing

by chorylbingbonsley (staystark)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 5+1 Things, AND SMOOCHES, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Cum Eating, Getting Together, Grief, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Post-Canon, handjobs, it's literally just, spoiler: it's ozai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staystark/pseuds/chorylbingbonsley
Summary: “I don’t understand,” he admits.“You know!” Sokka repeats the motion with more vigor.“I don’t,” Zuko insists.“Masturbate.” Zuko blanches before going beet red. Sokka continues, undisturbed. “It always helps me.”“I—I don’t know how.”orFives times Sokka lends Zuko a hand, and one time Zuko returns the favor.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 376





	grounding, healing

**Author's Note:**

> pls review tags before continuing!

**i.**

Zuko can’t sleep. His night has consisted of tossing and turning, huffing, rearranging, turning over again and again. He’s tried sleeping on his back, side, stomach, all while imagining himself in the deepest sets of comfort, on a featherdown mattress instead of the lumpy layer of hay confined between thin cloth. No matter his efforts, nothing was working.

“ _Zuko_.” The name is hissed to him and he stops mid-flop to turn to the voice. It’s Sokka, of course it is. He’s the closest, the most easily disturbed by the movement, and Zuko instantly feels guilty. He hadn’t meant to be inconsiderate. Sokka continues whispering with an annoyed expression, eyes managing to find Zuko’s even in the sparse lighting. “What are you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I—” Zuko pauses, chokes down his volume, “I can’t sleep. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t sleep?” He still sounds annoyed, not at all curious, but Zuko answers anyway.

“Yeah. I can’t—” _get comfortable_ , only that wasn’t true. It’s just an excuse. “I’m anxious. I can’t settle down.” Saying it didn’t make it any better.

“You have to sleep. Why don’t you just…” Sokka replaces a word with a hand motion.

Squinting, Zuko tracks the motion. “I don’t understand,” he admits.

“You know!” Sokka repeats the motion with more vigor.

“I don’t,” Zuko insists.

“Masturbate.” Zuko blanches before going beet red. Sokka continues, undisturbed. “It always helps me.”

“I—I don’t know how.”

Sputtering, Sokka says a bit too loudly, “How do you not know how?”

Zuko’s expression morphs into a scowl, deep and angry, but he keeps his words to himself. He didn’t have a normal life, a normal adolescence. He’d barely reached puberty and he was hunting down the Avatar. He didn’t care what was happening to his body if it didn’t make him stronger, if it didn’t improve his firebending, if it didn’t help him get home. Sure, he’d asked questions but after finding out that what he was experiencing was normal, he didn’t bother past that. He couldn’t care. He settled on, “I just don’t.”

Frustrated, Zuko turns his back to Sokka and lays down. He wants to erase the whole conversation from his mind. He wants to go to sleep.

There’s a moment of silence and then sound, movement. He sure it’s Sokka, probably gathering up his bedroll to set up closer to the group and the dwindling fire. Zuko doesn’t blame him, but it hurts the same. He doesn’t expect the sound of shuffling feet to get closer, not further, and he jolts up as he feels something at his back. He turns wide-eyed to see Sokka settling in behind him, not looking in the least bit bothered at their proximity.

“What are you doing?” Zuko hisses. His voice pitches in the dark, high and embarrassing. Sokka immediately shushes him.

“Calm down. I’m going to try and help.”

_Help_? “How?”

“Just lie down.”

Zuko does as he’s told. It feels weird, having someone so close. He wasn’t even this close to the other refugees on the way to Ba Sing Se. It’s nice, warm, and he’s so caught up in this thought that he violently tenses when a hand is placed on his waist. It takes a moment, a long moment of inhale-exhale for him to rationalize that it’s Sokka’s hand. _It’s just Sokka, everything’s fine._

The hand rests there, an oddly heavy pressure radiating from its simple presence, and then slowly, the thumb begins to rub circles. It’s a curious sensation that expands when the rest of the digits come to life. It’s as soothing as it is unsettling, foreign. And then the hand drifts a bit lower, to the hem of his shirt, and Zuko freezes when the hand meets his skin. It’s somehow completely different, more intimate. Just as before, the hand waits before moving. Less circles, more stroking. It inches from his hip to his belly, nails scratching gently at the trail of hair along his navel.

“Is this okay?”

Zuko thinks it is. It feels nice, and it’s Sokka. He trusts Sokka. He nods, breath unsteady, as he says, “Yes.”

“Let me know if you want me to stop.”

He nods again, voice lost as the hand moves again, up this time. It thumbs across his abs, at this core, reaching as high as his sternum before traveling back down. The heat that follows isn’t like fire but it still burns, pooling lowly the longer the hand stays and explores. It doesn’t feel like a surprise when the hand reaches lower, past the band of his pants. Zuko hadn’t even realized he was half-hard until the hand grips him.

The sound of his gasp is harsh and loud, echoes around him, and he stifles it as quick as he can, moving to cover his mouth with his hands. Everything goes still, his heart hammering high in his chest.

“You’re okay,” Sokka says, suddenly much closer. It’s no longer an outline of his warmth but his actual body. Chest pushed against Zuko’s back, the press of a knee along Zuko’s thigh, Sokka’s arm draped lightly around his side, his hand holding still and steady. “You’re okay.”

Is he okay?

Sokka waits as Zuko gathers his bearings, until his breath evens out. Zuko realizes how hot he is, feels the small trace of sweat at his brow. He’s still hard.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” His response is muffled by his hands. He removes them and, despite how breathless he feels, says as clearly as he can, “Keep going.”

The feel of Sokka’s hand moving has Zuko’s moving straight back to his mouth. If the touch had felt foreign on his side, there’s no describing the feel of it on his cock. The grip is firm, the skin calloused, but the touch soft. Zuko loses himself to the sensation of it, to the drag of skin along his own. The heat in his stomach builds and flows lower, and Zuko curls with it, Sokka following along. He wants to move with the hand but it’s unpredictable, pumping one moment and twisting the next. When the thumb traces along the slit, Zuko’s grateful for the hand at his mouth. The noise he makes is embarrassing and needy and he feels like he could cry. He shuts his eyes and tries harder to fight back the sounds.

He doesn’t know how long this continues, how long he burns, only that he doesn’t burn forever. At some point, Zuko begs. He begs to the lines of his palm, _pleasepleaseplease_ , and the motions become more purposeful. Zuko feels frantic, caught in a way he can’t explain, and he doesn’t know if he wants the feeling to end or last forever.

When he peaks, he doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t expect the heat to consume him, he doesn’t expect the curl of his toes or the jerk of his hips, a hand scrambling to find purchase when the thin bedding isn’t enough, the moan that tears through his throat to tangle and die in his hand. He doesn’t expect the come down, how tender and full he’d feel. He sags into the sheets, body twitching in a sporadic manner, lightly unfurling. He pulls his hand from his mouth, the cool night air a deep contrast to the humidity of before, and his other hand unclenches. Where had he put it?

“You’re okay,” a voice says. And oh, that’s Sokka. His hand is on Sokka, twisted to the side and nestled deeply in the folds on the other’s tunic. He’s too soothed to feel anything other than grateful.

The next few moments are a lazy blur and Zuko’s too tired to give proper thanks, his breaths deep and full, meditative and lulling. He falls asleep to intermittent “You’re okay” and the hand back at his hip.

Waking comes easy for Zuko, easier than it had ever been on a ship or upon his arrival home. He feels relaxed, calmed. And then he remembers last night and wants to fall right back to sleep. Had that really happened? Did he let that happen? He reddens at the idea and shifts on the bed. Only…only he’s clean. He moves again and yes, he’s clean. Had last night been a dream? All imagined?

“Oh good, you’re awake!” That’s Aang, standing at the tips of toes in excitement. Zuko finds that he isn’t too annoyed by it, not this morning. “Breakfast is ready!”

Zuko double checks the state of his clothes—yes, definitely clean—before joining everyone at the fire. He mulls over the memory of last night, of how much could actually be memory, before they’re served.

“Sleep well?”

He startles at the voice, and it’s Sokka. He’s smiling at Zuko, something soft and understanding, and Zuko knows that it wasn’t a dream.

“Yes,” he says with a nod. Sokka doesn’t seem to notice as he’s scooping rice onto Zuko’s plate, his smile still in place, but Zuko needs him to know. Before Sokka can move onto the next person, Zuko reaches out to grab onto the other’s wrist. Sokka freezes at the contact and Zuko knows he’s blushing when Sokka meets his gaze. “Thank you.”

The smile is a bit bigger, eyes soften, and Zuko lets go, knowing the message is received. Sokka continues to serve breakfast, and Zuko allows the feeling of contentment to swell.

**ii.**

Two months after the defeat of his father and his sister, two months of being Fire Lord, and Zuko is already questioning his Uncle’s decision to let him reign. He can handle the workload, the people, the decision-making, but he can’t help but feel like he isn’t giving enough. To the other nations, to his own people. There’s so much to make up for, to amend, and the weight of it is overwhelming. Not all the time but enough that it’s becoming a larger inconvenience than he’d imagine.

Today was one of those days. A meeting amongst the world’s leaders, relaying of trade routes as well as reconstruction efforts. It would be a long day, the leader’s arriving over the past week, and Zuko’s anxious. He just wants to get this over with, maybe then he could eat.

He’s wearing down the carpet with all of his pacing, he knows, but he can’t stop. He jumps at the sound of the door opening, heart leaping into his throat. The meeting’s not for another thirty minutes, he needed the solitude beforehand.

Sokka walks in, that large, goofy grin in place, and Zuko is sure he’d find it endearing if it was another time. He found it endearing just yesterday, and the day before that too, but now isn’t the time. His demeanor must show through because Sokka stills at the entrance, face falling into a sight of confusion and worry.

“Hey, man, are you okay?”

It’s not a question Zuko thinks he can answer truthfully, or even verbally. He feels like he’ll vomit if he opens his mouth. Sokka approaches carefully, door shutting tightly behind him.

“Zuko.”

“Yeah.” He sounds strangled, voice pitched low and hard. Is he going to vomit? It sure feels like it. He clears his throat, tugging at the collar of his top, inhaling deeply. He clears his throat again and tries to speak. “Umm… Did you—Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to see you. See how you were doing. Are you okay?” Sokka winces not so subtly. “You don’t look so hot right now.”

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie, and they both know it.

“It’s just me,” Sokka says, stepping closer.

Zuko trusts Sokka, well and truly. They’d grown much closer over the course of their travels together and even once they were separate, they always managed to write. Sometimes no more than a paragraph or two, and other times, pages. Zuko trusts Sokka, and let’s his demeanor unravel.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Zuko blurts, quick and much too loud in the empty room. Hysteria is rising in him, creating a deep panic and pain in his chest, and he nearly doubles over in an attempt to catch his breath. Sokka is there almost immediately, holding onto his shoulders with a firm grip. They don’t let him fall too far, and Zuko continues with the truth. “There’s so much to do, to fix, and I don’t know if it’s going to be enough. So many people died or were imprisoned, the Airbenders don’t even exist anymore—”

“Woah, buddy. You have to breathe.” Zuko can’t retort because he can’t breathe. “Come on, in and out. In and out.” Sokka keeps a hand on his chest and Zuko uses it as a marker to gauge his breaths depth. It takes several long minutes before the tightness stretches, weakens.

“I’m going to go on a limb here and say that you’ve been talking to your dad again.”

And that’s the heart of it, isn’t it: His father. Zuko didn’t mean to visit him as often as he did, but the man was impossible to understand and impossible to get answers out of.

“What if he’s right?” Zuko asks, misery coating every word.

“He’s not.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because I know you. There’s a lot you can’t fix, things that aren’t your responsibility to fix, but you’re going to try because that’s just how you are. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Zuko realizes how close they are when Sokka reaches out to tilt his chin, raising his gaze from the ground to meet his eyes. “Zuko, you have to realize that you’re enough.”

Before he can process what he’s doing or talk himself out of it, Zuko is pulling Sokka into a hug. Sokka shows no hesitance, embracing him with ease. It’s nice being this close to him. He’s warm and smells nice and doesn’t care if Zuko lingers longer than proprietary calls for.

“Feeling better?” Sokka asks when Zuko manages to pull away.

“Yeah. Much better. Still nervous though.”

“Nerves are good, I think.”

Zuko doesn’t agree. “If you say so.”

The mischievous expression isn’t new to Zuko, it’s one that Sokka adopts several times a day, but Zuko doesn’t know what it could mean in that moment. “Well,” Sokka drawls, “I can help filter out those nerves, if you want.”

Zuko blinks slowly at the offer. “Uhhh. I mean, there’s not that much time before the meeting, and I don’t think it’d be wise to be late.”

“I don’t think it would take too long. Didn’t last time.”

Zuko’s head tilts at the thought. “Last time?”

Oh. Zuko nearly reels at the memory, body flushing. The look Sokka sends him doesn’t help, an echo of that heat flickering in his chest.

“I-I don’t think I can—”

“No worries.” Sokka’s hands move up in surrender. “Just offering.”

“No, I-I don’t think I can _in here_.”

“Oh! Well, this is your palace.”

_It is my palace._ Zuko could take them anywhere. In fact, he knows the perfect spot. He sat it in a few hours ago, just two halls over. “Do you really think there’s enough time?”

“How much time we talking?”

Zuko measures the sun though the open roof panel. Twenty-five. “Twenty,” he fibs, rather safe than sorry.

“That’s plenty of time.” Sokka gestures to the door. “Lead the way.”

Zuko tries not to rush. Was twenty minutes really enough time? It’s not like he timed it last time. And it wouldn’t really be twenty minutes, more like ten with all the walking. Then again, he did subtract that extra five minutes.

“Are we going to ditch the guards?” Sokka stage whispers and Zuko halts, having forgotten about the trailing men.

“Return to your posts,” he commands. “We’ll return soon.”

There’s no one around when they come across the room and the two enter silently. Zuko hesitates at the door, unable to control the conflicting feelings emotions. He can admit that he’s aroused, overwrought with the idea of Sokka touching him, but this isn’t really the same as the first time. He didn’t know what to do then and he doesn’t know what to do now. It’s not like there was time to learn these things.

“I can feel your anxiety from here.”

“Uhh,” Zuko cuts off the sound, eyes flitting across the room as he tries to find the right words. He decides to be blunt because it’s not like Sokka doesn’t already know the truth. “I still don’t know _how_.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

Zuko doesn’t retreat when Sokka approaches but he does find himself leaning back when Sokka leans in. He doesn’t mean to but he’s still so nervous. Sokka continues undeterred and Zuko realizes that Sokka’s actually guiding him to move. He backs into the wall and Zuko apologies, though he doesn’t know why. Sokka just smiles and tugs at the sash at his waist. He works the material loose with one hand, loose enough that Sokka can fit a hand between the folds to settle along his skin.

It shouldn’t feel any different, but it does. The touch sends a tingle down his spine and he’s sure Sokka can feel the building heat.

Zuko doesn’t know what to do other than watch. He watches as that hand glides across his pale skin, widening the opening of his robe, but it comes as a surprise when the hand continues higher up than last time. It stops to rub at his nipple and Zuko couldn’t have predicted for it to feel this nice. His breath picks up at the contact, as a thumb and forefinger gently twist at the nub, but he feels his breath stolen when a second hand touches him. This hand dips low and keeps going until it’s in his pants. The gasp that escapes Zuko makes him freeze before melting into the touch. It’s just him and Sokka, there’s no one around to overhear. This is fine.

“This is fine, right?” Sokka asks in a low voice. Zuko’s not sure if he would have heard him if he weren’t so close.

“Yeah,” Zuko finally pants, head nodding jerkily. His swallow is audible and he blushes deeply as Sokka smiles. It’s the only confirmation that Sokka needs before getting right back to work.

Zuko can’t keep track on those hands, on what they’re doing, on what Sokka’s doing, only that they’re doing an amazing job. Zuko feels feverish within moments, feels himself growing steadily hard beneath Sokka’s calloused hand, and closes his eyes against the small flood of embarrassment. He leans more heavily into the wall, needing to find a grip, anything to keep him grounded because if he doesn’t, he’s sure he’ll—

He slips, knees buckling at a startling twist, but he doesn’t fall. He’s pulled enough from the wall to catch himself but if it weren’t for Sokka pulling him closer, he’s sure his robe would have unfortunate tears from the roughened stone.

“Come on,” Sokka huffs as he straightens the two of them, and Zuko doesn’t know how he can be so put together, so focused. “Face the wall.”

Zuko does as he’s told, but he’s not sure he likes it as much as before. Maybe it was the fall but it feels—

_Oh._ Head bowed liked this, he can see the hands work without the same kind of embarrassment as before. He’s still blushing up a fiery storm, but there’s comfort in not being seen. And with his forearms braced against the wall, he doesn’t have to worry about falling again. If anything, he finds himself leaning more into the stone, angling himself to have a better look. He doesn’t know when or how his clothes had parted so much but he enjoys the look of it. His pale skin is flushed red in patches along his torso but the dark hands create a contrast as beautiful as the paintings lining parts of the palace.

His pants are shoved lower, and for the first time, actually sees a hand on his cock. Pulling at the pink base across a spectrum of darkening shades to the bright red of the tip, a bead of liquid nestled neatly at the crease. It looks obscene, and he moans.

Zuko wants to watch, he really does, but the more this continues, the harder it is to keep his eyes open. He feels lost to the sensations, to the touch of hands, to Sokka pressed at his back.

“You’re so good,” Sokka says. Zuko’s not sure if he was meant to hear that, the way it’s pressed and muffled at the top of his spine, but he does and he moans again.

Sokka says it again and again and Zuko feels like he can’t breathe, like all the air has escaped him.

With one hand still furiously working at his aching cock, the other rises up and up until it’s at his throat. It’s gentle, massaging away tension and the stress, and it helps. The first large breath Zuko is able to inhale is followed by a small cry as the heat in his belly peaks and streams flow and gush to hit the wall in front of him. He’s sure that without Sokka holding him up, he would have fallen straight to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” Sokka murmurs, barely audible over Zuko’s rugged breaths. Arms hold him in place until he finds his balance, until his breath evens, and when they do fall away, it leaves him feeling bereft. He clears his throat once, quietly tucking himself in, looking anywhere but at the stains on the wall.

When Zuko turns, the sight of Sokka sends a blaze of warmth to his face. He doesn’t know what to do or say. This isn’t like the last time, when there wasn’t time to talk about it, but now—

The smile Sokka is trying to hide behind his hand is too big, and it makes Zuko think that he’s being laughed at. Not too long ago, the sight would have offended him and made him strike out. Now, the idea is enough to make him feel upset. The feeling doesn’t have time to hurt as Sokka points and says, “ _Your hair._ ”

“My hair?” Zuko repeats, raising a hand to feel. What was once smoothed back is ruffled and loose. He lets out a groan of annoyance, reminded of his morning struggles to tuck his just long enough bangs back.

Sokka catches his hand and Zuko startles. He hadn’t realized the other had gotten close.

“Let me help,” Sokka says. His voice is soft, tender, even as his smile is teasing. Dumbstruck, Zuko nods.

Taking a seat, he says, “This doesn’t seem hygienic.”

“I’ve got gloves,” Sokka dismisses. Just as before, he immediately gets to work. He slips off the golden headpiece, placing it in Zuko’s waiting hands, letting down the top knot. The tendrils tickle Zuko’s nose and obscures his vision, the fleeting thought of _lost time_ stealing his attention. Zuko closes his eyes and focuses on the feel of Sokka’s fingers running along his scalp, tugging together locks in practiced motions, listens to the sound of Sokka’s breath, tries to match it.

“There,” he says, much too soon. Sokka takes the headpiece from Zuko’s slackened grip and slides it into place. “All set.”

“Thank you.” Zuko rises and smooths down his robes, tucking and tying the knots with precision.

“Feel better?”

Zuko pauses at the words, and realizes with awe that he’d forgotten his nerves regarding the meeting entirely. Somewhere between that wall and Sokka’s hands, peace had settled in Zuko. He smiles, small and genuine, growing wider when Sokka responds in kind. “Yeah.”

There’s a tremor in his thighs as they walk back, and when they re-enter the council room, it’s full. All eyes turn to him and waits for the spike of nerves, the rush of embarrassment, the first inklings of fear—none come. He greets them and the meeting begins, minutes before schedule.

It’s a successful meeting, but sometime between trade routes being outlined and the cost of ore mining, Sokka captures Zuko’s attention. He’s not doing anything in particular, taking notes (or doodling, Zuko could be convinced), but Zuko watches him. Takes in the curve of his nose, the natural pout of his lips, the crease that disappears and reappears at odd intervals between those ocean eyes. Looking too long makes Zuko feel flushed.

**iii.**

Three days later and the two are sparring in one of the more secluded courtyards. It’s a warm day with the occasional cool breeze, the sun bearing down heavily overhead. Beads of sweat coat the both of them, but Zuko hardly notices, attention fixated on the smirk Sokka is sporting. He’s improved, Zuko can attest that, but it’s still a shock that of their three complete matches, Zuko’s only won two. He doesn’t intend to lose the next.

Squared off, Zuko takes in Sokka’s stance, examines the frame for weakness. Sokka doesn’t wait, striking out with the wooden blades. Zuko parries one attack, two, then pushes back. It’s the smallest of a stumble on his left that alerts Zuko’s to his opening. Charging, twice high and once low, Sokka blocking them efficiently. However, there isn’t room for his blades to move when Zuko barrels forward, taking Sokka down.

The gush of air that escapes Sokka on impact glides along Zuko’s cheek and over his ear. It brings a rush of victory, and as he pins Sokka down, sword moving to rest at Sokka’s throat, Zuko adorns his own smirk.

“Ow,” Sokka whines, squirming. Zuko almost feels bad. “That _hurt_.”

“Sorry.”

Sokka glares up at him, no doubt from his unapologetic tone, but Zuko continues to smile.

Every ache is heightened when Sokka twists under him. There’s a brush along his groin that makes the pair freeze, the smile slipping from Zukko’s face.

He was hard.

This isn’t new, getting hard while working out or sparring. He could remember the first time, how embarrassed he was, but it’s biology. There’s heat and friction and excitement, adrenaline pumping. It didn’t mean anything. But for it to occur now, with Sokka, sets his face aflame because maybe it did mean something.

“I’m sorry,” he gushes, panicked, moving to lift himself. The hold on his arm is sudden and surprisingly strong, keeps him in place. He looks to its owner.

“Need a hand?”

“Umm—”

Zuko doesn’t know what to do. He can’t believe that Sokka is offering _again_ , but this isn’t like the other times. He’s not anxious, he’s just hard. He can take care of this himself with a cool rinse and meditation, he didn’t need Sokka’s help. It would be a lie, though, to say he didn’t want it. He wanted Sokka’s hands on him, wondered if it would be different without the clutch of anxiety weighing between them.

The press of a palm against his sternum results in Zuko jolting in his seat, teetering in an attempt to catch himself. It elicits a chuckle from Sokka. Zuko’s not sure if his heart increased from the touch or the sound.

“What do you say?”

Zuko takes a breath to survey the area, relaxing minutely at their isolation. His guards and staff know where he is, know who he’s with, that he can take care of himself. The chances of them being found is slim, the possibilities of them being interrupted even slimmer.

“Okay,” he says at last.

He doesn’t protest when Sokka drags him down, hands trailing along his arms and shoulders. He ends up propped on his elbows, arms bracketing Sokka’s face. Even though there’s half a foot of space between them, Zuko feels like they’re too close. It’s more than enough space for one of Sokka’s hands to explore.

Zuko doesn’t know where to look, and that results in him holding Sokka’s gaze. Sokka meets the look head on, hands rubbing at the same stretch of skin above the waistband. He knows that he’s staring, but he can’t look away. Not even when Sokka’s hands dip lower, folding down the band, freeing his cock and partially exposing his backside to the sun.

Both of Sokka’s hands are on him, twisting in dizzying opposite directions, and Zuko’s attention is torn between Sokka’s touch and his expression. He’s focusing, his brow lightly furrowed, his lips pressed together in a firm line, split apart when his tongue peeks out to wet them. The action is captivating, but not as much as his eyes. Distantly, Zuko thinks _Beautiful_.

A gasp escapes him when one of the hands trail lower, cupping at his balls. The sensation is _different_ , the feel of the callouses fingertips more keenly felt, and he closes his eyes, dipping his head side. His next breath fills the space between them, makes him shiver.

Zuko’s hips move, grinding down once, twice. He makes to move a third time but his brain catches up, and he stops. Moving with the rhythm of the hands felt nice, really nice, but he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to.

Opening his eyes, Zuko looks to Sokka. His face is almost glowing with pride and it punches the air from Zuko’s chest. Had he done something right? He must have to earn this visage.

Testing the water, Zuko maintains eye contact and he thrusts again and again and again. Sokka’s approval doesn’t waver, and Zuko doesn’t stop. He keeps the pace slow, shallow, before changing the method, the angle. All the while, he’s buried his head along Sokka’s neck, feeling the shivers wracking through Sokka’s form.

He likes going fast, likes how Sokka changes to keep pace, but he settles into slow, long thrusts, pressing closely. The space between their bodies has diminished greatly, enough that Zuko is faintly surprised there’s room for his cock, let alone that plus Sokka’s hands. Everything feels so tight and warm and when he drives hard and low, he can feel the head slide past Sokka’s hands and glide across this bare stomachs, and he likes that best.

His orgasm blindsides him. His pace falters, sputters, and he moans loudly at the hollow of Sokka’s throat. He stays there, trying to catch his breath.

It takes a long moment to feel the wet between them and he shifts, rising unsteadily from the weakness in his arms. Sokka’s hands slide out from between them, falling to the side, and Zuko eyes the mess. Even shadowed, his cum looks luminescent across Sokka’s dark torso. The sight brings a level of satisfaction that Zuko doesn’t understand and he hangs his head, startled and embarrassed.

He needs to move. They’ve been out here too long; it’s too hot. From their training, their entwined body heat, the sun. Despite knowing this, Zuko doesn’t move. It doesn’t help that there are arms suddenly around him, one snaking across his waist and another at his neck. The touch is cooling, waves of comfort and reassurance flooding his system. It’s not at all how he imagined drowning.

Zuko doesn’t want to move; doesn’t want Sokka to let him go.

**iv.**

The knock at the door is the loudest sound Zuko has heard in hours. It rings in the room, stinging his eardrums. He responds out of habit but with no real feeling. No one should be bothering him, not during these times, and so he knows that it must be important. That doesn’t make it any easier. He’s hardly straightened in his seat when the door opens, and he stills once he recognizes the figure.

“ _Sokka_.” He sounds weak to his own ears and he flinches, averting his gaze. He doesn’t want to look away. Over a month has passed since they’d last seen each other, and there were days that his longing became a physical ache. He’d missed all of his friends but the letters between him and Sokka weren’t enough. And here he is, and Zuko can’t—

The bed dips beside him. Even then he can’t look. The sounds of their breathing fills the room and slowly, Zuko relaxes, tension draining from his shoulders as he evens out his inhales and exhales to match his companions. The atmosphere is almost peaceful when Sokka speaks.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Zuko wants to scoff, but he’s too tired. “No one else is.”

“He was your father.”

“He was a terrible father.”

Terrible was a soft word to describe Ozai’s fatherhood. It couldn’t do justice to his far-reaching hate. He hurt everyone and had no qualms in doing so, offering reasons for every decision as though pain could be validated. Ozai was a man that only cared for himself. And now he’s dead.

“It shouldn’t hurt this much,” Zuko murmurs after a long moment. He means it, it _shouldn’t_ hurt this much. “It’s not fair.”

Focusing on his clenched hands is the only thing that halts the words trying to leave him. He’s already on the verge of tears, can feel the swelling lump in his throat, and if he keeps talking, he _will_ cry. He doesn’t want to cry anymore.

Sokka’s tan hand comes into his line of sight and he only has a second to admire the difference in their color before Sokka has a hand on his wrist. It’s a gentle hold, fingers curling through the space where his hands divide. Sokka runs the pad of his thumb along the thin skin at his innerwrist and Zuko relaxes his hold, lets the gap widen. It’s a nice touch, soothing and familiar, and one that he’s missed.

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says again, voice just above a whisper.

There’s nothing Zuko can do to stop the tears. They flow hotly down his cheeks and he bows his head, trying to hide. Sokka won’t judge him, he knows this, but he still feels so deeply ashamed. How can he mourn for someone so awful?

Zuko hardly notices when there’s a shift on the bed but he’s not startled by the warmth that sidles beside him, feels the barely-there touch at his arm and his thigh. “It’s okay.” Zuko hears this but he shakes his head before the words can continue.

“It’s _not_ ,” he argues. There’s not much fight in his voice. He sounds whiny and young, like a child. It grates his nerves but that doesn’t stop the rest from spilling out of him. “He never loved me. _Ever_. It wasn’t even because he had what he needed with Azula. It was just me. I loved him for so long, and it was never enough. And now—” The steam has run out, leaving him sagging. His head feels too heavy, too full. “I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

The tone is as sharp as a freshly crafted blade, but it’s the feeling of Sokka’s hand leaving him that makes Zuko flinch. It startles him enough that the tears stop and he moves to chase the comfort. His effort and panic are unnecessary, as suddenly both hands are on him, gently cradling his face. The expression on Sokka’s face steals his breath.

“You’re not stupid,” Sokka repeats, softer this time. Soft like the fingers brushing away his tears. Soft like the smile being directed at him. It’s a sad smile, too. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be loved by your father, by your family. You don’t deserve this, and I’m so sorry you’re in pain. Grief is…”

“Weird?”

“Hard,” he corrects, though he doesn’t smother the small chuckle that escapes him. The sound makes him feel better, and his attention is momentarily directed to Sokka’s throat. He doesn’t let it linger. If Sokka notices, it doesn’t show, his smile still in place. “It’s okay that this isn’t easy.”

Zuko goes to nod, but Sokka’s hands are still encasing his face. It’s odd, having someone touch his scar so intently. The nerves there are mostly deadened, but he can still feel the press of Sokka’s fingers, feels their warmth. It’s equally as soothing on his unmarred side.

Wetting his lips, Zuko opens his mouth to respond, only to close it without a word being said. He tries again. “I… Thank you. It has been. Hard, I mean. Everything’s just too much right. My-My head feels so…” He doesn’t know the right word and his frown deepens. “I just want it to stop.”

At the feeling of Sokka’s hands sliding away, Zuko moves to keep them in place. His grip on Sokka’s wrists prevent the other from moving but it’s not tight enough to force them to stay. In lieu of an explanation, Zuko merely says, “Please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, not really, and it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want to lose this. Not yet. Preferably, not ever.

Sokka doesn’t seem deterred by the behavior and Zuko is too embarrassed to hold his gaze. Instead, he closes his eyes.

“Okay,” Sokka says.

Even with the assurance, Zuko doesn’t release Sokka. His hands lower, fingertips caressing the length of Sokka’s forearms, but he doesn’t let go. Being touched by Sokka is grounding; touching Sokka is healing.

They stay this way long after his tears have dried. Zuko’s hold is looser, casually tracing the wrinkled skin at Sokka’s elbows, and Sokka’s hands alternate between their place at his cheeks to his jaw, his hairline, fingers uselessly tucking loose tufts of hair back. They’ve shifted closer too, angled together at the knees. It’s only when Zuko opens his eyes that he realizes how close they are. His next exhale comes out shaky, and it’s then that their eyes meet.

(Zuko likes to think that they moved at the same time, but the widening of Sokka’s eyes tells a different story.)

Zuko kisses him. It’s simple, _twoBaSingSethreeBaSingSefourBaSingSe_ of pressing mouths, but it’s enough that he experiences a headrush. The good kind. Like, executing-a-new-kata-perfectly good. But better. Training has never made him this happy. The explosion of fluttering in his chest doesn’t make him feel nervous. It makes him feel light, like he’s flying.

When he opens his eyes ( _and when had they closed_ he wonders), he goes as still as the dragonflies in his torso. Sokka looks confused, brow pinched slightly, mouth the tiniest bit agape. Immediately, Zuko blushes. Embarrassed and feeling foolish, he begins to pull back, struggling to scrape together an apology, _an excuse_ —

One that proves futile because he can’t pull back. Sokka’s holding him still, isn’t letting him pull away. A hand locked along his neck, the other at his shoulder. Stunned, Zuko doesn’t fight it. He holds still, let’s himself be examined with those critical eyes that are tracing his features with lightning speed. His breath rages out of him when they settle on his lips.

Zuko gasps against Sokka’s mouth, eyes widening before leveling closed. His disquiet is smothered by relief and joy.

Kissing Sokka isn’t like kissing Mai. He can’t imagine that it’s like kissing anyone else. The way they fall into one another feels natural. They lean closer, their kiss deepens, open-mouth and heavy. A moan fills the room when Sokka’s tongue meets his and he doesn’t mind that it’s his. He doesn’t mind any of the sounds that he’s making, and he loves the sounds coming from Sokka. The hitch of his breath when Zuko bites into his lower lip, his sigh when Zuko swipes the faint wound with his tongue.

Almost more than that, he gets to touch Sokka. Where before he could memorize the limited space of Sokka’s arms, now he can touch more. Arms, shoulders, neck, his face. There’s a patch of stubble right at the underside of Sokka’s chin, probably missed during his morning shave, that makes Zuko smile upon discovery.

He likes this. He likes Sokka. It doesn’t feel like a revelation.

Sokka guides him down to rest on the bed. The position reminds him of the time in the courtyard and his hips move upward of their own volition. Sokka hesitates, pulling back to stare down at him. There’s a blush coating the tops of his cheeks and his lips are slick and swollen. His eyes are darker too, the pupil expanded. Zuko doesn’t know if he looks the same, if he can look so thoroughly appealing.

The sight of Sokka this way fills Zuko with want, heat dancing through him in a way he hasn’t experienced. Zuko moves again, slowly, raising his hips to meet Sokka’s, and Sokka lets him.

“Are you…” He sounds dazed and visibly shakes his head before trying again, his thumb trailing across his jaw. “Are you sure?”

Zuko nods eagerly, eyes wide and hopeful. “Please.”

He meets Sokka’s lips halfway, feels the smile Sokka’s sporting.

There’s no urgency in Sokka’s hands as they travel across his torso, deftly parting his robes. It’s familiar and new at once, and part of Zuko can barely focus on his hands because Sokka is still kissing him. His hands are almost an afterthought compared to Sokka’s mouth.

It’s a shock when they leave his own but then they’re peppering kisses at his jaw, down to his throat. He sucks at the sensitive skin and Zuko shudders until the ministrations. Sokka’s kisses travels lower, goes across the length of his collarbones, the divide of his sternum, before latching onto his nipple. He grapples with the sheets as his arousal rises to a new height.

By the time Sokka has him in hand, Zuko’s not far from the edge. He’s aching from the attention, burning with need. He’s almost crying when he whimpers out, “ _S-Sokka_ —”

Sokka understands immediately, leaning up to recapture Zuko’s lips. Zuko cums with that kiss, heaving against Sokka’s mouth.

They kiss as he comes down. They’re sweet, indulgent little kisses.

_Is this what it’s always like? With everyone?_ Zuko wonders, marveling at the tender care. But really, Zuko doesn’t want to find out. He wants this with Sokka; only Sokka.

* * *

The funeral processions commence with indifferent ease. No matter what Ozai did, there are traditions that are to be adhered to, and it’s with great comfort that Zuko houses his friends within the palace during these times. Everyone is kind to him, understanding, offering condolences that they mean. Uncle Iroh is perhaps the only one who wears his grief a little more plainly.

His free time is sparse while arrangements are made, no time truly uninterrupted, but him and Sokka find ways to remain together. They sit beside one another during meals, take tea with Uncle Iroh and listen to his stories, hands laced together under the table. They touch as often as they can. Straightening a collar, wiping away stray lint, and when Ty Lee makes a comment about the state of Sokka’s hair, Zuko cleans up the undercut.

Everyone is in attendance when they light the pyre that rids the world of Ozai.

Two days later, they head to the gardens to say goodbyes. Sokka holds his hand down the halls, the boldest they’ve been during the visit. Zuko spies Aang’s watchful gaze but the youngest doesn’t say anything, eyes averting from the display.

There are promises of upcoming visits and Zuko relishes their enthusiasm. It diminishes as they clamber on to Appa, the feeling worsening when Sokka’s hand slips from his.

Knowing that it was coming is different from experiencing it. Zuko struggles with his emotions as Sokka smiles at him, calm and soothing and full adoration, before he begins to walk away.

Zuko moves before he can think about it, before he can stop himself. He grabs hold of Sokka’s arm and Sokka stops, startled and wide-eyed.

In the presence of everyone, Zuko pulls Sokka into a kiss. It’s deep and lingering and Sokka responds in kind, cementing a deep hope.

This can work Zuko thinks when they separate. Sokka’s expression is a mix of dopey and smug, and it’s so stupidly endearing that Zuko has to fight to release his hold.

“What just happened?” Toph asks.

The two look over, taking in the wide array of reactions. Katara is blushing, trying to offer a vague response, and Aang and Suki are beaming at them. Uncle Iroh is busy sipping his tea but even Zuko can see the curl of a smile on his lips. Ty Lee is excitedly whispering into Mai’s ear, who appears unaffected, but is listening intently.

“Seriously, what just happened?” Toph demands.

_This can work_ Zuko thinks again as they depart, hand raised in farewell. It’s a wish that feels like a promise.

**v.**

It doesn’t take much goading to convince Zuko to visit the Earth Kingdom. Things are beginning to settle, and while Zuko doesn’t believe he’s earned a vacation, he doesn’t forgo the trip. He’ll still visit the King and make a trip to Omashu, make point to visit the colonies, Kyoshi Island, but more than that, he wants to spend time with his family.

On the second week of their travels, they come across hot springs. It’s his idea to rest early, remembering Uncle’s praise of their healing nature. He hadn’t expected the words to be true as he sinks lower and lower into the heated water. He and Aang take turns heating the water and somewhere between the first and second hour, it’s just him and Sokka.

They’re seated side-by-side, Sokka’s arm draped across the back of Zuko’s shoulder. The sun is beginning to set, the sky a canvas of vibrant shades of orange and yellow. Sunsets have always reminded him of home, but he feels it now more than ever with Sokka by his side.

It occurs to Zuko that this is the first time they’ve been alone during this trip. He turns his head where it’s resting at Sokka’s shoulder to look up to his boyfriend.

Sokka must feel his stare for after a few moments, he looks over to meet Zuko’s hazy gaze. He offers a smile, draws closer. Something about the action makes Sokka smile back.

“What?” he asks at length, a chuckle laced around his confusion.

Zuko shakes his head. “Nothing.”

And then, because he can, he leans up and kisses him. They can kiss as often as they want now but decorum usually curbs Zuko’s desire, something Sokka decidedly abandons in the presence of others. Sokka initiates most contact between them, will stop mid-activity, to lean over and kiss Zuko. Sometimes on the lips but also on the cheek and forehead and if they’re already holding hands, he’ll raise their joined hands and press his lips to his knuckles or wrist. It’s not something Zuko can imagine getting used to.

“No no no,” Sokka bemoans as Zuko starts to pull back, moving forward to chase after him. Zuko doesn’t fight down the grin and let’s his lips be recaptured.

It’s not long before he’s flushing from more than the heat of the spring. Sokka has shifted in his spot to press their chests together, a hand lightly gripping his jaw and another placed at his knee. Zuko’s own hands are busy touching Sokka’s torso, taking pride in the occasional shudder that wracks through his body.

Sokka’s lips move from his mouth to his neck and Zuko moves closer, but it’s not close enough. He hooks his ankle over Sokka’s calf and uses the small leverage to hoist himself into Sokka’s lap. Sokka immediately accommodates for the new position, arms loosely wrapping around him, and Zuko layers his on top. He leans back against Sokka, angling his head to the side as Sokka continues to lick and bite at his throat. Zuko melts into the touch, moans into the heated air.

Heat begins to sink and pool into Zuko’s abdomen and he grinds down, craving and fighting the tension. It is only then that he realizes that Sokka is also hard. He halts his movement, curious and awed at the new phenomenon. He’s never seen Sokka hard, never felt it. He has no hope of seeing the spectacle in this position and with Sokka’s arms caging him close, it’s unlikely he’ll get the chance. But he can feel it atleast.

_I just need to…_

Spreading his legs, his grinds down again.

Sokka convulses. A hiss sears across his shoulder as the arms tighten around him. Zuko briefly wonders if he’s done something wrong, if maybe he’s hurt the other, but then Sokka’s rocking his hips up. Slow, shallow thrusts that Zuko can’t respond to with how tightly he’s being held. But he can still feel it, feels Sokka swell beneath him, rubbing at the cleft of his ass. He’s riveted by the new stimulation and leans more heavily onto Sokka, enjoys the bite of teeth high on his neck.

This rhythm continues for several minutes, and it’s maddening. Zuko’s frenzied and eager, holding in whiny noises of need, and is on the verge of begging when Sokka finally— _finally_ —moves a hand to grip him. His movement isn’t so much quick as it is smooth, elegant. With one less arm holding him, Zuko takes advantage of the freedom to meet Sokka’s next thrust.

When Sokka moans, a coil of tension in Zuko tightens painfully.

Sokka’s hand doesn’t stop its stroking, which is why it’s especially surprising when his other hand creeps into the space behind Zuko. The second hand effectively separates the point of contact between his dick and Zuko’s ass, but the loss of sensation is soon replaced. The feel of fingers rubbing into that space is entirely different. They act with intention, tracing at the sensitive nub in a way that has Zuko’s breath stopping short. He braces himself against Sokka’s thighs, hands digging into the others knees as he falls forward, tries to find balance. It causes him to rock into Sokka’s hand and the zing of pleasure has his motions stuttering, but he doesn’t stop moving.

The coordination of their movements make for an endless loop of arousal, and it’s all too much. Thrusting into Sokka’s fist, grinding at the probing fingers, Sokka’s hot breath fanning across his shoulders and back. Molten with heat, the air steams around them in a dense fog, and Zuko needs— _needs_ —

His point of undoing is the sound of his name falling from Sokka’s lips.

Loose-limbed and weak from ecstasy, Zuko is caught before he can splash into the water. He’s so lost in his high that he doesn’t realize Sokka is still moving, his pace picking up. His stupor breaks at the sound of his name, chanted like a prayer at his back, but even then he’s dazed, thoughts sluggish. There’s a sharp inhale that leaves his back covered in goosebumps and a low groan, and it’s only then that he realizes that Sokka has cum. And he missed it.

He missed it, but it’s difficult to be upset about it when Sokka gently twists his head to the side and kisses him. It’s uncoordinated, messy, and so full of affection that Zuko forgives his misdeed.

_Next time_ he thinks, determined. But for now, he tucks the thought away. Choosing instead to let contentment wash over them in their repose, bathe in renewed serenity.

**+i**

They’re in the Fire Nation. The trees are in full bloom, decorating the gardens with various colors and scents, and the night is cool and clear. The stars aren’t as bright in the city as they are at sea or in the forest or mountainside, but Zuko can still make out constellations. Him and Sokka are comparing their Nations markers, congenial in their differences. At one point, they grow tired and recline on their blanketed spread.

Zuko pins himself close, can feel the steady beat of Sokka’s heart from where he lays his head, and sighs into the embrace. He listens as Sokka speaks of the tribe, how their winter preparations have changed since the end of the war, how their allegiance with their sister tribe has resulted in remodeling of their architecture and how—

Sokka stops mid-sentence and shifts to meet Zuko’s gaze. “Hey, now, are you listening?”

Mildly affronted, Zuko says, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You have this sappy expression on your face.”

_Do I?_ he thinks. But if he does, he doesn’t mind it. “If I do, it’s your fault.” He pokes Sokka’s chest for emphasis.

“In that case,” Sokka tucks Zuko closer, tone bordering on smug as he leans down, “I take full responsibility.” And then he kisses him. It’s not unlike most of the kisses they’ve shared that evening but that doesn’t stop the bubble of happiness in Zuko’s chest from expanding. Sokka grins down at him when they part, laying back to face the stars.

Their night could continue like this and Zuko would be content with it, not look back with shame or regret, but there’s an itch in his palms. They crave to instigate a different aura, to fulfill a deep desire.

Thing is, Zuko’s been practicing. In the beginning, there was hesitance, his body foreign under his touch, but once he started, it became surprisingly easy. He need only think of Sokka. Sometimes reminiscing over past encounters and other times imagining what would happen at their next rendezvous. While he knows he can wait, that this can wait, he doesn’t want to. He wants to see Sokka the way Sokka has viewed him. He’s tried to imagine it, but Zuko doesn’t do well with intangibles. He wants to relieve that scratch in his skin, and so after several beats of watching the rise and fall of Sokka’s chest, Zuko makes his move.

Zuko raises his arm from where it’s draped across Sokka’s waist to place it along the other’s ribs. He traces an outline through the thin shirt, and when Sokka doesn’t flinch or pull away, Zuko places a kiss at his jaw. His mouth lingers, and then he presses another kiss and another, finds the sensitive patch of skin near Sokka’s ear that always makes him squirm and bites down. Sokka tenses beneath him, breath hitching in the night air, but he doesn’t move away, makes no attempt to stop him or diffuse the situation. It’s all the encouragement Zuko needs.

Zuko continues like this, sucking bruises into his neck, feeling the toned structure of Sokka’s torso for long minutes. There’s no fight when Zuko parts Sokka’s tunic, drags his nail lightly across his skin. He plays at the hair trailing down Sokka’s stomach, studying the coarse feel of it before moving his hand lower.

Palming Sokka, Zuko feels his own heartbeat pickup as Sokka gasps at the touch. He holds himself steady before finally maneuvering to grip him properly, exposing him further to the spring air. Zuko takes a moment to admire his cock, its color and girth. It’s hot and weighty in Zuko’s hand, and precum has already begun leaking. Zuko doesn’t hesitate to swipe at it, use it to help smooth the motions of his hand.

From there, it’s all exploration. How tight is too tight? More attention to shaft or head? Twist or tug? Zuko memorizes Sokka’s reactions and adjusts, taking note of what makes his hips buck and what makes him quiver. Every vocalization Sokka emits spurs Zuko onward, and when he feels that Sokka is close, he lifts himself up to hover over the other.

It’s with great pride that Zuko takes in the wreck he’s made Sokka. Even without better lighting, Zuko can make out the dark flush that spreads across his chest, up his neck, and high onto his cheeks and ears. He’s heaving, mouth and eyes open wide. His eyes aren’t blue like this, the pupil so large that they appear black. He looks delirious and desperate, and Zuko understands.

As with himself, Zuko pumps faster to rush Sokka’s release. The sounds of their meeting flesh sound harshly in the otherwise peaceful air, only beat out in volume at the sound of Sokka’s moan when he finally comes. Zuko strokes him through it, savoring the rush of accomplishment that floods him. He only releases him when Sokka grows limp beneath him, the occasional shudder rippling out of his relaxed frame.

Zuko idly plays with the mess. It’s out of no true wonder that Zuko lifts the hand coated in cum and tentatively takes a lick. The taste is strong, flooding his mouth with its distinct flavor, and he swallows it down. _Not good_ he thinks _but not bad_.

“Oh.”

Attention shifting, Zuko sees that Sokka’s staring. His eyes are alert, gaze bouncing from the still filthy hand and Zuko’s mouth. Deciding to test the theory, Zuko takes another lick, and watches the way Sokka tracks it.

_He likes this?_ Zuko ponders. It’s not a development he anticipated, but that doesn’t dissuade him from continuing to lick at his hand. Sokka watches the whole time, continues to stare even when Zuko’s hand is clean. It’s satisfying, giving Sokka pleasure, which is why Zuko doesn’t hesitate to lower himself and continue the process.

The cum is cloying and thick as he swallows it down, and even though Zuko thinks it’s weird, he finds himself liking it. At one point, Zuko’s peeks a look up, searching for a continued sign of approval, and stills at the searing look Sokka has fixed on him. Zuko cranes his neck to hold that gaze as he continues. It’s only once he’s sure that there’s no missed patch or smear that Zuko neatly tucks Sokka in, and moves back to his initial position, only deviating to press a kiss onto Sokka’s heart.

He wants to ask how it was, if he did okay, but there proves to be no need. Not by the way Sokka cradles him, or how he pushes back Zuko’s hair to stare adoringly at him, or how he leans over to kiss him. Or how after he says, “I’m so happy you chose me.”

Zuko’s response is a smile and a blush and another kiss, content with their shared sentiment.

(And if he’s a little hard, so what? He could take care of it later. Maybe Sokka would help.)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! it's been a good while since i've written/published anything so i'd really appreciate any feedback, and if there's anything that needs to be tagged, please let me know!


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